A/N: I've decided to raise the Rating on this story because of the amount of dirty mouths I'm finding in the game. Even R-L is starting to get infected.

I would like to thank Grand Master Darkstorm, again, for the continued support and encouragement. And I would like to also thank DreamerDarkness for giving me something to think about.

On a side note, R-L's real name is mentioned!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything – Everything Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft. I barely own R-L.

A Ghost's Aversion

I looked down disgusted at the new dead body at my feet.

Edward had killed again, but not someone who should be classified as a major enemy.

This dead man was a lowly mugger, someone who had fallen on hard times, without a dime—or, in this time, is it a copper?—to his name. He had robbed Bonnet of his purse while the merchant was too distracted by his amazement and awe of Edward's admiringly outstanding climbing feat up the church bell tower. He didn't harm Bonnet, merely grabbed and shook him, before shoving him away and called him a "gordo," which I believe is Spanish for "fatman," scaring the poor gentle man badly.

We, Edward and I, still locked in synchronization, could hear what was going on from up there in the bell tower. We looked down; saw what was going on, I hear Edward telling Bonnet to hang on, before the jerk leapt, I repeat LEAPT, out of the tower, taking me with him since I was still trapped within him. I'm not ashamed to say that I screamed my head off, even though I was only one who could hear it.

By all intents and purposes, Edward should have been dead when we…he…we hit that parked cart and landed in the straw. I should have felt Edward's bones break, or a sharp blow to his head, or something. But I didn't. Amazingly, all I felt was breath knocked out the lungs for a few moments, before Edward quickly got to his feet, jumped out the cart, and started chasing the mugger.

Even more amazing was Edward still had enough breath to threaten the thief.

The mugger was fast, and knew the city's streets better than Edward did. He did everything he could to lose, or at least, slow Edward down. The thief knocked over people, turned sharp corners, cut through small crowds of people, and to my amazement, climbed the buildings and ran through the rooftops.

But Edward, heavy as was with his muscular stature and heavy clothes and two swords, was just as nimble, just as I had first witnessed back on that island in the Cape Bonavista where Edward had killed Duncan Walpole and then again at the bell tower.

It amazed me enough to forget about how uncomfortable I was as a passenger in Edward's skin. How could I feel fear when the wind was blowing in my ears and I could feel Edward's strength and energy with every step we took? I felt no pain or strain of tired muscles, or pulls or lack of breath. In fact, the energy felt like it could last a lifetime.

In my time, I could never hope to reach this level of physical fitness. It was amazing.

Although the chase seemed to last for long time for me, Edward did manage to caught up and tackle the thief while on the rooftops. As both Edward and the mugger got to their feet, I had expected Edward to either snatch the purse back then leave, or maybe rough the mugger up before grabbing the purse and leaving.

I had not expected Edward to draw out cutlasses, causing the mugger to pull out his own rusty weapon, his eyes wild with fear. That is when I realized why this guy had mugged Bonnet instead of the clearly more well-off individuals.

This guy was not looking for a fight.

He wanted an easy target that wouldn't give him any trouble because he couldn't defend himself against the risky targets. From the thinness of his body, he must have been hungry and didn't have any money for food. He robbed Bonnet so that he could eat!

Edward didn't see it that way.

I could feel in his thoughts that he was angry that someone had dared "threaten" someone he considered a friend.

"But the thief didn't harm Bonnet!" I shouted, trying to stop Edward who was advancing on the poor man. But it was a futile effort; I had no control over Edward's body. I couldn't stop him. "Look at him! He's no match for you! He's starving!"

Then I could actually hear Edward's thoughts. Jumbled as they were, they seem to be answering me back, twisting my words around. "It doesn't matter if he has not hurt Bonnet, he threaten my friend! How many others has he threaten? How long before he winds up killing someone out of desperation? No, it ends here and now! He's a dog, lower than dirt! The only thing he hungers for is other people's gold! I'm better than he is!"

I fell silent.

He thinks he's actually doing the world a favor. He can't see how much of a hypocrite he's acting. He thinks he's above this starving man.

I watch him block the mugger's bad attempt to strike. I watch him shove the thin man back. I watch the mugger stumble…

And fall over the edge of the roof…

To his death…

Edward…I could feel his disappointment at the lack of a fight, but still full of satisfaction, sheathes his swords and climbs down to the street. Once his boots hit the pavement, I was finally de-synchronized from him and standing over the dead body.

Somewhere in my mind, I knew that I couldn't have saved this man. He was already dead. By my time, he would be dead for almost three hundred years. Just because I could view the past, doesn't mean I could change it.

Besides, it was not my job to try and save the already lost lives of the people of past. My job was to analyze the pirate Edward Kenway and see if my bosses upstairs could commercialize on his life as a pirate. I don't like the idea that my job is to essentially help Abstergo Entertainment capitalize on people's lives, but what else can I do?

If I don't make it here, I'm not trained in anything else.

Well…nothing legal anyway…

But right now though, I don't think Edward is worthy of even that. He's not the first ancestor of Sample 17's bloodline to have been opted out by Abstergo Entertainment analysts for product capitalization. There is at least three that I know of, and they've been locked out mainly due to their violent tendencies and/or problems with their personalities.

Yeesh, my first day on the job, and already I dislike the object of my first analyses. But it's too soon to ask to be transferred to another subject. I'm stuck with Edward Kenway.

I glance over to him as he searches the corpse for Bonnet's purse, and whatever else he could find on the barely cold body.

"You robbed the wrong man, mate," I heard him say to the dead mugger, finally locating Bonnet's purse, "A fellow with dangerous friends."

When he stood up, I saw him grinning in triumph.

Something within me snapped, and I couldn't stop myself from trying to punch him in jaw.

Of course, my fist just goes right through him, but even so I started speaking as though he could hear me. I was too angry to care.

"What are you smiling about?" I said, disgusted. Even though I was smaller than him, and he couldn't see me, I stepped right in front of him and stood on my toes in order to look at him straight in the eye, "Have you so little regard for those less off then you? Could you not see that the two of you were the same?"

Muggers, pirates, thieves, robbers, they were the same to me: they all stole things from others. The only difference between them was what, where and how they did it, but in the end, they were the same.

'Least, that's how I see it.

I sighed and rubbed the point between my eyes above my glasses hard with my fingers, setting my feet back down flat on the gravel and took a few steps back.

Really, what is wrong me? Why am I so upset?

"Oh what am I doing?" I said, now talking to myself…again, "It's not like you can hear me. You can't even see me."

Really, I'm pretty much talking to walls. This time, this place, these people, they're not real.

Not really…not anymore…

They're all just compressed data inside a highly advanced machine.

Outside the Animus, this isn't the eighteenth century; it's the twenty-first century. Havana is still around, but not like this. Havana has cars, electrical lights, modern buildings, a Chinatown (or so I heard), and metal ships in its ports. These people, Edward, Bonnet, the mugger, Bonnet's crewmen, the people the mugger and Edward knocked down during that mad chase…they are long gone, faded away from memory and, for most, from historic record.

Why can't I seem to get that?

Nikola Tessa Takeuchi-Kestrel, get a hold of yourself!

"Eh? What?" I heard Edward say, his voice full of bewilderment.

I twisted my wrist slightly to peek pass my hand to look at him, wondering why he suddenly sounded confused. But he was just standing there over the body, blinking rapidly than rubbing his eyes.

"What now?" I said, annoyed, "Got something in your eye?"

Of course, he didn't answer. But…

Why did it seem for a few moments there he was looking right at me?

…

…

Nah! Couldn't be. Must have been something going on behind me.

I trail after Edward, heading back to the church where, hopefully, Bonnet still was; the silent invisible ghost that I am.

A ghost in a machine that can view the past, not interact with it.

Maybe if I keep telling myself that I can get through this session with my sanity intact. I need my sanity intact in order to make out my first report, and be able to talk to Mariana when she and her mother call later today. Can't let Amy think she needs to come and rescue me from across the border.

…yet I'm still pondering why Edward, the arrogant jerk that he is, looked so surprised and why he keeps looking over his shoulder at my direction.

Dammit, focus, Nikki! Concentrate on your job!

Thankfully, Bonnet did have the good sense to wait where we left him.

From his words, he was far more happy and relieved to see that Edward was alive and unharmed rather than the return of his purse. If it weren't for the crate of sugar he had in his arms, I think he would have given Edward a hug. I had to crack a small smile at the mental image.

Stede Bonnet sure was Edward Kenway's polar opposite in every way: cheerful, polite, and gentlemanly if naïve and far more innocent then a man his age should be. He was a good man to be around, a breath of fresh air in this chaotic world of where swashbucklers and military soldiers were constantly at war with one another, and people killing each other for either the stupidest reasons or the smallest crime.

'course, Edward just HAD to ruin the moment with his overconfident arrogance.

Still, I was glad to see that Bonnet seemed to share the same, or close to the same, feelings I had about Edward's attitude at the situation.

…why couldn't Sample 17 be related to him and not this idiot jerk I'm saddled with?

As Bonnet and I followed Edward to the destination of Bonnet's tavern, I started looking around and taking in the scenery of the port town, taking mental notes about 18th century Havana as a way to pass the time and keep my mind off Edward for a few minutes. With the connection between Edward and I, it was not like I could get very far away from the pirate; maybe eight or nine feet at most before I'm back to his side like a slingshot.

And being a ghost, I can walk through everyone that bumps into me, pass through anything in my way and no one can see or hear me, so I can afford to be distracted.

It's not long enough though. All too soon I hear Bonnet pop, "Ah! We've arrived."

This tavern looked a lot brighter and cleaner than I had expected. Maybe it was because of the open courtyard where the where the visitors and the regular patrons were sitting about, drinking, socializing, being merry, or flirting with the tavern ladies. Or maybe it was because this tavern was situated in an area where the Spanish soldiers patrol regularly. Whatever the case, it sure beat anything I was expecting to see.

"Take your time," I heard Edward say to Bonnet, drawing my attention back. I see Edward gesture to a table with a passed out man is sleeping, his bottle of alcoholic beverage still sitting upright and clutched limply in his hand. "I'll be just here."

Bonnet nodded and broke away to go to another part of the tavern, leaving me to follow Edward to his chosen table. Seeing no place for me to sit, and not wanting to stand even though I could not get tired, I chose to sit on top of the table, leaning back against my hands comfortably. From there I can see why Edward chose this table: a clear view of the entrance, which also served as the exit.

I watch Edward sit down in the unoccupied chair, and place his—actually Duncan's—small bag on the table's top right next to me. The bag contained maps and some sort of glass-like cube. No doubt, those maps were the information Walpole was to deliver to Havana's governor, a Mr. Laureano de Torres y Ayala. Though what was the cube for?

I know maps, especially maps of 16th and 17th century New World, were vital sources of information.

Why? Because North and South America, Mexico and the Caribbean islands wasn't completely explored yet and the new lands were up for grabs. Britain, Spain, France, Portugal, the Netherlands were some of the major players for colonization of the New World, especially in North America, Mexico and the Caribbean. Those who colonized an area would get its resources and resources meant money for the colonists' home country.

Maps were vital because they hold the secret where these locations with these resources were and who had control of them. But this made the maps dangerous because if they fell into enemy hands, the enemy would have the means to find the colony and take it for themselves.

It was why the time before the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713 was so full of wars; the great empires of the world were constantly competing for resources until it exhausted them.

But the cube?

I have no idea.

"Fancy meeting a welshman deep in Dago country," said a man from another table just across from Edward's table. He had one of those…dancers…sitting on his knee. His eyes were sunken in and his voice sounded slurred, but from the presences of a bottle in his hand, I guess he was a bit drunk. Do I want to know what the word "Dago" means?

Probably not.

"I'm English meself," the man continued, "Biding my time 'til the next war calls me to service."

Ah, he's a former privateer, like Edward. But unlike Edward, this one that didn't turn to piracy; instead, he's turned to women and drink.

…that's worse…

"Lucky King George having a piss-pot like you flying his flag," Edward shot back, disinterested.

Although I silently agreed on some level, again I couldn't stop myself from glaring at him. Isn't he supposed to be keeping a low profile now that he really is in a high-risk area that would certainly draw unwanted attention if you're not careful?

And to think not too long ago I was thinking he actually had a brain.

Edward reached to snatch the bottle from his unconscious tablemate's hand. But I caught a slight movement, which I wouldn't have seen otherwise if I wasn't looking.

I was sitting and leaning directly in front of his reach, so his hand and arm should have gone right through my stomach. But instead, for a split second, his hand paused…

Then he reached around me.

What the—?

I didn't have time to think about it. The dancer let out a half-pained half-surprised noise, catching my attention and I jerked my head back towards the ex-privateer.

Oh no, he's gotten to his feet and is looming, trying to make himself look bigger, tougher and more intimidating.

He's succeeding for me, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Edward is nonchalant, taking a large gulp of his free drink.

Damn your cool-headedness, Edward, damn you!

"Oy! Skulk!" the ex-privateer said, his voice loud and I could see a few people looking over at us, their attention caught by the loud voice. "I seen your face before. You's mates with them pirates down in Nassau."

I felt the inside of my stomach twist. Oh no, Edward has been recognized. His cover has been blown.

We had to get out of here! Now!

I'm seeing the ex-privateer through Edward's eyes.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! Why am I in synchronization NOW?! We have to get out of this place!

"Shut your fucking gob!" Edward/I snapped, glaring warningly at the loudmouth blabbergob (Edward's words, not mine), "Or I fill it with shot. You hear me?"

Unfortunately, the ex-privateer didn't "hear." Instead, he laughed and latched onto the hood of Edward's stolen coat and yanked it down. "Edward, is it?"

I've never head-butted anyone before until this moment.

Ouch…

Edward, non-surprisingly, wasn't fazed or even dazed by his attack like I was.

As I fought through the pain and blurred vision, I saw Edward grab a hold of the half-drunk man and punch in right in the gut before pushing him back hard, throwing him off balance and he crashed into his table. His tablemates, with their drinks still in hand, scrambled out of the way of the flying body and the table broke clean in-half by the drunken ex-privateer's heavy weight.

"You call this keeping a low-profile?!" I shouted helplessly from within Edward.

Oh great, now the drunk's tablemates are angry and itching to fight. And when there's fighting and alcohol involved, this doesn't become a fight: it's a brawl!

I really hate you, Edward James Kenway.

Anymore feedback, encouragement, suggestions or thoughts are welcome. They help story improvement and lets me know what the readers are looking for.